Kiss the Cook
March 29, 2015
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A rare occurrence, but one I celebrate: my son facing me on my lap gleefully enjoying the bouncing and squeezes of which I cannot seem to achieve saturation. Without warning he dives into me with his beautiful mouth open as wide as he can muster; perhaps he wants to eat my face? But, no, my initial assessment was incorrect; he is providing me with baby kisses.
They are unnecessarily wet and slimy, and seem to consume more circumference than what appears probable. For what his kisses lack in substance, they make-up for in enthusiasm. He goes on the offensive three, maybe four times before he loses his momentum. My chilled cheek is all the remains of his demonstration of affection, and while i quickly wipe off the moisture that coats almost the entire side of my face, all I can do is hope for another urge to overtake him.